


An Impossible Silence

by FirithAriel



Category: Bucky Barnes - Fandom, Captain America (Movies)
Genre: COVID-19, Coronavirus, F/M, Pandemic - Freeform, health worker reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-09
Updated: 2020-04-09
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:47:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23552530
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FirithAriel/pseuds/FirithAriel
Summary: Bucky begged and pleaded for you to stay home. You said no. You couldn’t, and wouldn’t. It was your job after all, and if it was in your power to do anything to help, you were going to try..-Yes, this is about the Covid-19 pandemic.If this is a trigger for you, or the pandemic hits too close to home, maybe skip this one.
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Reader
Comments: 12
Kudos: 39





	An Impossible Silence

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: Yes, this is about the Covid-19 pandemic.  
> This is my way to cope with all this, cause yes, as a health worker, I am scared.  
> The narrative might not be explicit, but it has a very accurate description of things that happen to you during the course of the infection, and after.  
> If this is a trigger for you, or the pandemic hits too close to home, maybe skip this one.

**.Day 1**

He begged and pleaded for you to stay home.

You said no. You couldn’t, and wouldn’t. It was your job after all.

Bucky did not like it. He was scared for you, maybe even more scared than you were for yourself.

This virus, this pandemic, had hit much harder than anyone previously thought. You knew many people wouldn't survive, and if it was in your power to do anything to help, you were going to try.

Eight hours shifts became twelve hours shifts, then sixteen hours shifts, as you watched your coworkers fall ill. You were barely home at all, and then tried to force Bucky to move in with Steve.

“I am a walking plague, Bucky.” You tried to reason with him.

“I ain’t leaving, and you can’t make me.” He retaliated. “It’s bad enough to see you walk out that door everyday, and now you want me gone?”

“I don’t want you to get sick!”

“I am a super soldier!”

It sounded childish when he said it, but Bucky had a point. Even if just a theory, it was very likely that Bucky wouldn’t be affected by the virus. So he stayed, as long as he didn’t go out much, only to get some essentials and taking every precaution possible.

It wasn’t that bad. At least Bucky could take care of you everyday.

**.Day 6**

As days passed by and the situation got increasingly worse, you were thankful for Bucky’s insistence to stay. You were sure you wouldn't be able to cope with this alone. 

As every evening, you got home, stripped off your clothes and stepped in the shower, while Bucky took your clothes, put them in the washing machine and got dinner ready for you.

“Hey, sweetheart.” Bucky said, coming into the bedroom carrying dinner for you.

You didn’t answer. After you pulled your nightgown over your head and Bucky left the tray on the nightstand, you hugged him tight and sobbed quietly into his chest.

“Another one?”

“Several.”

Bucky held you tighter, rubbing your back up and down, letting you get it all out. I wouldn’t be the only time that happened.

**.Day 12**

It started as a mild cough, just a small itch in the back of your throat. Nothing bad, just annoying. But after you spent most of the morning coughing, your co-workers insisted you got tested and went home. You wanted to ignore it, pretend it was fine, that it was just the weather and the air conditioner at work. No… you knew better than that. It had always been a matter of time.

Bucky was in the kitchen looking for anything to have as lunch when he heard the keys. Confused, he went to check the door. You got in and said nothing, slowly taking your clothes off as every day.

“You’ve been crying.” Bucky said, waiting for you to finish.

You took a deep breath, that made you start coughing. Bucky’s eyes widened and he hurried to get you a glass of water. You gulped it slowly, thankful for the small relief it provided.

Bucky took the glass and gave you the robe you kept by the door, looking at you and holding his breath, already dreading what you were about to say and almost wishing you wouldn’t say anything at all.

“I’m sick.”

**.Day 18**

Tossing and turning on the bed, you couldn’t manage to get in a comfortable position. Your body hurt, moving hurt,  _ breathing _ hurt. You could hear Bucky fumbling with stuff in the other room, not able yet to find the meds you had asked for.

Groaning, you sat up and reached for the water bottle on the nightstand. Your throat was dry and itchy and inflamed, the water offered too small a relief.

“Got them!” Bucky bounced back in the room carrying several boxes of meds.

You brought your knees to your chest, wrapping the blanket around you while Bucky handed you the meds and more juice. Despite the throat ache, you swallowed the pills.

“I’m so cold!” You shivered.

“That’s the fever talking, sweetheart.” Bucky said, feeling your burning face and unwrapping the blanket. “C’mon, you gonna take a bath while the meds kick in.”

You couldn’t protest, for you knew he was right. Bucky took you in his arms and carried you all the way to the bathroom, making you sit in the bathtub. The cool water made you shiver even more. Bucky held your hands and kissed your head until you weren’t shivering anymore.

“I’m so tired…” You muttered.

“Just do one more thing for me and I’ll let you sleep.” Bucky helped you up and wrapped you in a towel, gently drying you off.

“What?”

“Eat something.”

“I will try.”

Bucky smiled and kissed your head. You slowly walked back to the bed while Bucky went to get your food. Chicken soup and jello. It took a while, but you managed to finish all of it. Moments later you were asleep, curled up to Bucky’s lap.

He watched you sleep for a long time, until he too started to doze off. He was rudely interrupted by your coughing fit, though. In a flash he was up getting you water, but you couldn't stop coughing even to grab the glass.

Your throat was burning, your windpipe was completely closed. You couldn’t speak, you couldn’t breathe. Tears started streaming down your face. 

_ Help! _

Bucky was already on the phone, stammering instructions to whoever was at the other end of the line.

_ Help! _

“C’mon, sweetheart. They are coming. Hang in there, breathe, please breathe…”

Bucky took you in his arms and rubbed your back, trying to calm you down, get you to breathe again. You grabbed at him, pulling him close, trying to hold on to something in your desperation.

“Stay with me, sweetheart!” There was urgency and fear in Bucky’s voice. “Look at me.”

You did. You focused on him and steadied your breathing to short gasps.  _ I am so tired. _

“Keep looking at me!” Bucky insisted.

_ I’m tired… I’m just gonna sleep. _

**.Day 20**

The corridors of the medical wing of Stark Tower weren’t as busy as those in County General, but they were full of the same uncertainty. And Bucky could not stop pacing.

Two days ago, an ambulance took you to the nearest hospital, an establishment already overcrowded and understocked. But you wouldn’t be there more than a couple of hours. As soon as Steve knew you were in critical condition, he contacted Tony, and you were immediately moved to the Tower, where they had been taking the most critical patients from the hospital for weeks.

Two days you had been out, breathing only because a machine allowed you to do so. The morning visit had come and gone, informing Bucky that you were stable, healing. One of the nurses optimistically told him that you might even wake up soon. Bucky wanted to believe that. He had to, otherwise he’d go insane. He had never been fond of praying, but now he couldn’t really help it.

First it was the light, everything was white and bright, and your eyes had trouble adjusting to it. You opened your eyes slowly, trying to make sense of your surroundings. You wanted to cover your eyes, but your muscles protested.

_ Where am I? _

A loud thud startled you. You looked to the side and there was Bucky, frantically tapping on the window pane. You wanted to laugh, but the tube down your throat didn’t let you. A nurse covered from head to toe in protective gear came in and gave you pen and paper. She asked a few questions and you wrote your answers clumsily, your hands were still stiff.

A moment later, a doctor came in and you pointed at the tube.  _ Can you take it out? _

“Lay down, we’re pulling it out.” He said.

You did as you were told, knowing pulling an endotracheal tube wasn’t the most comfortable of experiences. But you were glad to be able to breathe on your own again. As soon as the nurse and the doctor left, you sat on the bed.

“I was so scared.” Bucky said through the window.

“So was I.” You croaked, but he couldn’t hear you. You had to write everything in the notepad and show it to him.

It wasn’t the best way to make conversation, but it would have to do. That same day, they put you on a soft diet and allowed Bucky to smuggle a frap for you, along with your phone. Bucky had to go home, but he didn’t stop sending you voice messages and texts, telling you everything that had happened during those two days.

It was an odd thing to do, but you kept playing Bucky’s voice clips until you fell asleep.

**.Day 23**

You were bored to death.

Isolation meant no human contact  _ at all _ . Maybe a few visits through a window pane and the daily check ups.

You knew you wouldn’t be allowed to leave just yet. There had been cases where patients were doing just fine and got worse in a matter of hours. It was necessary to keep you under observation for a few more days. So you sucked it up and did what you had to do. Taking your meds in time, eating your meals as they came.

Bucky was there everyday, sitting outside the window, keeping you as much company as he could. He would smuggle sweets and frappuccinos everyday too.

“How are you feeling today?”

“Besides being extremely bored?” You chuckled. “Much better. My throat still hurts, but I haven’t had fever again and my lungs seem to be functioning.”

Bucky put a hand on the window, and unconsciously you did the same.

You giggled. “This is so cheesy.”

“Right now, I’ll take anything, even cheesy.” Bucky said with a smirk. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

**.Day 25**

_ Drowning… Drowning…  _

You jolted awake, fighting for air.

Your throat had closed, breathing felt like shattered glass going through your bronchi. A coughing fit made you roll off the gurney, knocking down several things that were on the table by your side. The noise alerted the night shift personnel, who came running in to help you.

_ Hang in there! _

You were hoisted back on the gurney, as they all busied around you. Their voices sounded distant, but you recognized enough words to know they were going to knock you out again, put yet another tube down your throat. Tears were streaming down your face.

_ Please! _

_ We are not losing you! _

You wouldn’t remember anything else.

Next morning, as every morning, Bucky came to the tower to see you, hoping today was the day you’d be sent home. What he heard and saw wasn’t what he expected. His eyes blurred with tears.

All the improvement and the promise of a discharge came crashing down.

You were back on the ventilator.

**.Day 28**

Visit hours had gotten too short for Bucky’s liking, but there wasn’t much he could do. Covered from head to toe in protective clothes, hat and mask included, Bucky had to stand behind a glass pane to see you. He longed to hold you, hold your hand, talk to you whether you could hear him or not. 

To be this close to you and still so far was frustrating. Not being able to do anything but wait was even worse. He had talked to  _ everyone _ . Anyone he thought could help. But their hands were as tied as his own. No one had the answers, no one had any solutions.

Steve dropped by that day, if only to try and distract Bucky, try to bring some reassurance, or at least a sympathetic shoulder, someone to remind him he had to eat and sleep. Bucky wanted to be annoyed at Steve, but he couldn’t really. At last he accepted the invitation to have some coffee before going home.

That night, Bucky couldn’t sleep. He tossed and turned, getting up and walking aimlessly around the house chasing an ever elusive sleep. He felt a heaviness in his chest, something he couldn’t quite put into words. 

He had been clutching the phone in his hands for hours, waiting for… something. He didn’t know exactly what.

Until the phone rang.

Three times they brought you back.

The fourth time they lost.

**.Day 30**

There was no funeral.

No people to say goodbye, or to offer comfort.

It was only Bucky, a picture and a bed of flowers.

They didn’t let him see you, or hold you, or anything. You died alone in that hospital bed, tubes and machines all around weren’t enough to save you. Your body was promptly put in an hermetic bag into an hermetic casket into the crematorium. It’s how it had to be done, and it was what you would’ve wanted.

The box of ashes on Bucky’s hands felt strange, foreign. Not being able to see you made him doubt if it was really  _ you _ inside that sealed box. But it did not matter. He would give the repository to your family, and they would know what to do with it. Humans, after all, were creatures of rituals.

He wanted to be angry at someone. He wanted something to blame, to redirect all the sorrow and pain. He couldn’t stop wondering what else could have he done. Maybe he should have forced you to stay home, lock you down, tie you to the damn bed!

He even wanted to be angry at you too, for not listening, for not taking care of yourself. But he couldn't. It wasn’t just your job, it was your calling. You had said so a million times, and he knew you weren’t going to stay home and do nothing. You didn’t have an ounce of selfishness within you when it came to your job.

But he did. He was selfish, and he wanted someone to blame, to pay the price, to be held responsible.

His phone was full of texts and messages Bucky didn’t want to read just yet. He knew what they were, what they would say. They would offer their sympathies, they would praise you. Some would even call you a “hero”. All of them would be sorry for not being able to be there.

Steve was the only one who could show up, but understood Bucky needed to be left alone for a while. He would be there when he was needed.

It was only Bucky, a picture and a bed of flowers, surrounded by an impossible silence.

Bucky had not stopped crying.

He doubted he ever would.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is always appreciated!  
> You can also yell at me on my [tumblr](http://fadingcoast.tumblr.com/) and/or [twitter](https://twitter.com/FadingCoast)!!


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